


All I Want for Christmas Is You

by ummmmm (sumhowe_sailing)



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: Fluff, M/M, gift exchanges, the standard squabbling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 04:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13116432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumhowe_sailing/pseuds/ummmmm
Summary: Things go much more smoothly when they have Christmas at Chapman's.~~A gift for bosetsu~~





	All I Want for Christmas Is You

It was hard to believe it had already been another year. The last time he had shared a Christmas mallard (though thankfully _this_ one was roasted) with the Funns felt like only last week—except when it felt like a lifetime ago. So much had happened, and yet…

And yet, there were Antigone and Rudyard, arguing over the celery. There was Georgie, basically ignoring him, rolling her eyes every time he spoke. And there was Madeline, making notes on the corner of the tablecloth when she thought no one was watching. Well, the more things change, the more they stay the same.

But they _had_ changed, and most definitely for the better. For once he hadn’t spent the weeks leading up to Christmas calculating the odds of him being alone for the holiday. Again. He hadn’t been stockpiling presents for anyone who might conceivably invite him over, just in case. There would be no lonely, surreptitious visit to the shops to take everything back. Instead, in mid-November Rudyard had come marching across the square, and gathered himself in that cute, nervous way he had.

“Now look here. I know you’re a busy man, and I understand if you already have other plans, but if that’s not the case then I think this year we need to get a few things straight ahead of time.”

“Okay, great. What are we doing?”

“Christmas. Dinner. Presents. Last year you cocked up the whole schedule, but—”

“It wasn’t _my_ —oh never mind. Go on.”

“Thank you, Chapman. Now, to avoid having that kind of utter chaos again, I think…” he trailed off, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Shall we have Christmas at mine this year? I’d love to have you lot over for the holiday, make a proper day of it.”

“Are you saying Christmas wasn’t _a proper day_ at Funn Funerals?”

“No! No, that’s not what I meant. I just mean, well, _you_ were such—thoughtful—hosts last Christmas, I think it’s only fair that _I_ take the reins this time round. What do you say?”

 

Sooner or later, they worked it out. He was surprised by the amount of negotiation involved in having three people over for dinner—or at least, he _would_ have been surprised if it had been anyone else. Rudyard being defensive and insisting on contributing more could hardly have surprised anyone on Piffling. Antigone being…unusually tense…was only to be expected when her brother was involved. And Georgie just seemed to always be on the verge of attacking him over the most trivial of things. Except when she was saving all of them from near-disasters. Honestly, how those two had managed to set his oven on fire was beyond him.

All the same, Eric decided to take a few extra precautions, hoping desperately that it would smooth things out before they could get out of control. He had made a full Christmas dinner, in his own kitchen (the first time he’d done that in ages), and hid it away in his freezers. He hoped they wouldn’t need any of it, but it paid to be prepared. The night before Christmas he took down every clock he had in any room the Funns might wander into. It had taken some doing, but he’d also managed to convince Madeline to chew through the straps of Rudyard’s watch. He wasn’t entirely sure that Rudyard had even noticed. It was a bit shocking, remembering how rigidly Rudyard always adhered to his schedules, _especially_ on Christmas. Eric thought he’d seen Rudyard looking for a clock a few times, but overall he thought perhaps it was as liberating as he’d hoped it would be, not knowing just how far behind schedule they were. They lingered over dinner, with minimal bickering, and collectively agreed to do pudding before gifts—just in case.

“How was everything?” Chapman couldn’t help asking as he began clearing dishes afterward.

“Not bad,” Georgie shrugged.

“Perfect—ly acceptable. The mallard was a bit strange, but—”

“You’re just saying that because it wasn’t boiled.”

“What’s your point?”

“Nothing. Shall we do presents?”

“Yes, presents, yes,” Antigone’s excitement was barely repressed. Looking round, he could see that Rudyard and Georgie were just as eager as she was.

“Great. Who’d like to go first?”

“Might as well,” Georgie offered. “Rudyard—”

“Socks. Thank you, Georgie, they’re just what I needed.”

“I know. Antigone, here you are.”

“Ah, yes, it’s—a brand new set of scalpels. Georgie, they’re…they’re beautiful.”

“You’re welcome. Eric—”

 “My turn!” Antigone cried the moment Eric finished thanking Georgie for his new full length mirror (he felt like there was some sort of joke? or criticism? in the choice of gift, but he elected to ignore it). She handed Rudyard his package first.

“More socks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Antigone, they’re not even my size.”

“You’ll grow into them.”

“Now what kind of sen—”

“Maybe,” Eric interjected before the tangent went too far, “maybe you can exchange them?”

Antigone muttered something under her breath that may have been her agreeing or apologizing or telling them all to shut up. It was always hard to tell with her. But a moment later she was handing Georgie a present and the tension was forgotten.

“It’s…another little porcelain statue. Of a kitten with a fishing rod. It’s great.”

“I’ve got six more already wrapped.”

“Perfect.”

“Eric—here you are.”

“It’s…Antigone, where did you get a box of Memento Mori? I thought they’d all been, er, repressed.”

“I—I may have threatened to fill Ms. Doyle’s life with snakes if she wouldn’t—shut up.”

“Thank you, Antigone. Well, I guess it’s my turn now. Here, Rudyard.”

“Thank you, Er—more socks. Ah, thank you. Very, uh, very _nice_.”

“Here, Antigone.”

“It’s—it’s—what is it?”

“Collector’s set of the most horrifically depressing French noveau films ever made.”

“They’re…DVD’s?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if I can get Herbert to play them on Thursdays…”

“You could just watch them at home.”

“We haven’t got a DVD player.”

“Ah. Yes, right. Hadn’t thought of that. Well, of course you’re always welcome to come watch them here. We could watch them together, if you like, they’re some of my favorites.”

Antigone spluttered and went red in the face while Rudyard glared at them both until Georgie interrupted. He handed over her present, and reveled in the brief moment of her _not_ hating him while she examined her brand new remote controlled model helicopter (top of the line). Before she could get thoroughly used to it and go back to despising him, Rudyard interrupted by handing her his own gift.

“A—planner?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

“Antigone—”

“Oh, thank you, it’s—a hairbrush.”

“Mrs. Scruple would have wanted you to have it.”

“She’s still alive, Rudyard.”

“Yes, and if she were sober right now, she would want you to have it. Here you are, Chapman.”

“Candles?”

“They smell like real Christmas trees. And they have three wicks—so they’re three times as bright.”

“Rudyard, I—thank you. They’re wonderful.”

“ _Why_ are people so afraid of the dark?” Antigone muttered to herself.

“I’m not afraid of the dark!” Rudyard and Eric shouted as one. Georgie burst out laughing and Antigone began hotly defending the shadows. Perhaps that was why Rudyard was so willing to forego charades and skip straight to shooing Antigone and Georgie out and telling them to enjoy themselves at the Reverend’s now annual holiday party. Madeline went with them, hoping to get more material for her spin-off ( _Stories of a Village Vicar_ , available sometime in the next fiscal quarter). And just like that, he had Rudyard all to himself.

“I really do like the candles, Rudyard, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And, um, thank _you_. For the socks.”

“Oh, don’t mention it.”

“As you like.”

“Rudyard, are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s Christmas. And…and I’m with you. What else could I want?”

Eric was speechless for a moment. It was always strange, being in a relationship with Rudyard. So much of the time it felt like they were just slightly friendlier rivals. It was hard to get Rudyard to communicate about, well, anything, but especially about his feelings. And whenever Eric tried to tell Rudyard how _he_ felt, Rudyard got visibly uncomfortable. But then sometimes Rudyard would do or say something endearing, something almost affectionate. It always caught Eric by surprise.

“Chapman? Eric?” The concern in Rudyard’s voice snapped him out of his little reverie.

“I love you, Rudyard.”

“I—I love you, too, I suppose,” Rudyard mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

“It’s just, you seemed disappointed.”

“What?”

“Earlier. With the presents.”

“Well, it’s certainly better than three copies of _So You Want to Stop People Despising You._ At least all those socks are practical.”

Eric winced internally at the reminder of his poorly chosen present to Rudyard last year. It had seemed funny while he was in the store, but to see Rudyard get his hopes up only to have his personality rubbed in his face _three times_ … well, he could understand why he’d been upset. Which was why…

“Look, Rudyard, that wasn’t really my present for you.”

“But it’s the present you gave me.”

“Yes, I know it is, but it’s not the only one I got you. I wanted to give you this one without Antigone or Georgie around.”

“Two presents?”

“Yes.”

“I only got you one present.”

“That’s fine, Rudyard, honestly, you didn’t—”

“Why do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Why do you have to be better at _everything_? I thought we were pretty even with Christmas this year, and now you have to go and ruin it by making me feel guilty. _Again_.”

“I—I think I have a solution.”

“Of course you do. You’re Eric Chapman, when have you _not_ had a solution.”

“Look, there’s really not much that I need, or want even. But there is something…”  
“Chapman? Are you going to make me ask?”

“There’s something I’ve been dying to know for ages. If I ask you, can your answer be my second present?”

“But it’s not a present. I can’t wrap it up and hand it to you. It’s hardly exchanging presents if only one of us actually gets anything.”

“Please, Rudyard? I swear, it’s the only thing I want, please? Will you let me have this?”

“Fine. What is it?”

“Do you remember when… you know, at the Uranium miner’s funeral, when Jerry had that bomb?”

“Of course I remember. My turn?” he asked, reaching for the small parcel Eric was still holding onto.

“What? No, no that’s not the question. It’s—well, Jerry was threatening me, and then you stepped in and said if he wanted to kill me, he’d have to kill you too. And I thought—or hoped, maybe—but then you said it was just a point of principal.”

There was a long moment of silence. Eric had watched Rudyard growing more and more uncomfortable with every word, and wondered if it was even worth it. Maybe pushing him to talk about these things would only end by pushing him away altogether?

“Well? What’s the question?”

“What?”

“You just said what happened. You didn’t actually ask me anything.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“You and I seem to have different definitions of that word.”

“Okay, umm, I guess what I’m trying to ask is—well, _was it_ just a point of principal? Would you have interfered like that for just anyone?”

“Are…are you trying to ask if I did that because I _liked_ you?” For the first time in twenty minutes, Rudyard cracked a smile.

“Well, it’s not a ridiculous question.”

“Chapman, we’ve been partners for _months_ , are you still not convinced that I like you?”

“Please, just answer the question.”

“Okay, sure. Yes. I tried to stop Jerry from blowing you up because I was already helplessly, madly in love with you and didn’t know _how_ I’d survive without you around to annoy me.”

“Without the sarcasm, Rudyard. Please?”

“I… I don’t know. I felt a lot whenever I saw you. I didn’t—well, I thought it was hate. Maybe it was at first. At the funeral? I don’t know exactly what I felt or thought I felt, that was…”

“A long time ago?”

“Quite. But I had to try to stop him. It was partially my fault, after all.”

“Rudyard, I… I owe you an apology for that.”

“For what?”

“You tried to warn me. You really were just trying to help. And I yelled at you for it. I’m sorry.”

“Well. Hardly surprising. Shall we let bygones be bygones?”

“Glad to. Oh, yes, here’s your present.”

The awkward tension of the last quarter hour dissolved in a moment as Rudyard ripped away the wrapping paper to reveal a deep black tie dotted with tiny tombstones. His face lit up. Eric couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Rudyard so unabashedly happy.

“I—thank you, Chapman. Thank you.”

“Can I help you…?” he asked vaguely, reaching towards the tie. Rudyard handed it over and stepped closer, allowing Chapman to loop it round his neck. He didn’t see Rudyard’s face while he was doing the knot, but when he looked up and saw Rudyard blushing and staring at him with that half-smile… He couldn’t help himself. Tightening his grip on the tie, he pulled Rudyard closer for a kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Rudyard.”

“Merry Christmas, Eric.”


End file.
